


Hiding From the Lights

by Allekha



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bad Sex, Bathroom Sex, Coming In Pants, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Present Tense, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 15:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14917590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha/pseuds/Allekha
Summary: "See you at Worlds!" Victor had said.Chris does. They make out in a bathroom. It's not the last time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this sitting in my files and realized I'd never cross-posted it from the kink meme. I think I was planning on making it a 4+1 sort of fic, but wandered on to something else after part 3.
> 
> Written for [this kink meme prompt](https://yurionicekink.dreamwidth.org/881.html?thread=47985#cmt47985):  
> Chris does see Victor at the Worlds, and after the medal ceremony ends up making out with him in the bathroom. The start of a beautiful friends-with-benefits relationship.
> 
> \+ coming in pants (either or both!)  
> ++ they are both virgins
> 
> Really, I just want awkward teenage athletic fumblings. It's both great and embarrassing.

It's been a long day, and Chris is exhausted; that's the only explanation for how he gets out of the stall and halfway through washing his hands before he notices that Victor is there. He doesn't seem to have noticed Chris, either. The crown of blue roses – maybe the same one as at the European Championship, maybe a new one given to him because it suits him so well – is set aside on the dark counter top, and Victor is picking at his hair with both hands. It's not in its ponytail anymore, but spilling over his shoulders and down his back.

Chris watches him as he finishes scrubbing at his fingernails, while Victor mutters – probably curses – in Russian. He's working out knots and tangles, and the one he's currently fighting with isn't coming out nicely.

Victor finally sees him after he's turned off the water and is flicking it from his hands; he glances over, then turns his head and puts on a bright smile. A few days earlier, Chris was sure that Victor hadn't recognized him from Paris, but he certainly does now, after Chris fought his way to a place next to him on the podium. "Oh, Chris," he says, voice much more pleasant than it was a moment ago.

"Hi," he says, feeling stupid a moment later for saying it; they'd last seen each other not that long ago. "Is your hair okay?"

"It just tangles easily," Victor laughs, turning his eyes briefly to the knot still caught between his hands. "I forgot my comb somewhere, but I didn't want it to be a mess."

"Right," Chris says. He takes his time drying his hands off, watching Victor continue to struggle in the mirror. He hesitates after he drops the paper towels into the bin. It's quiet and they're alone, and Victor isn't looking his way at all, so it feels entirely natural to stare for a while.

Victor is very pretty; in a few years he will probably be quite handsome, but for now, even off the ice – even fighting his hair in a bathroom lit with unflattering florescent light – there's something that is almost ethereal about him, enchanting. Maybe it's his hair, shiny and thick with fine strands and a rare shade of silver. Maybe it's his long eyelashes, fluttering as Victor squints at the knot he holds. Maybe it's his hands, with their slim fingers. Maybe it's just the way he moves even like this – deliberate, elegant.

He also seems to be making slow progress with the tangles.

"Do you need help?" Chris asks. Victor's head jerks up as he first meets Chris's gaze in the mirror, then twists over his shoulder.

"Oh, no," he says, "it's okay, I can handle it." It's true, of course, but Chris can't draw his eyes away from the locks draped forward over Victor's shoulder for easier access, except to look down to where his hair clings to the curve of his back and waist, or up to admire how well it frames Victor's face. Victor is staring. Chris is staring. It's rude of him. "Well," Victor adds after the moment has stretched into awkward, "if you want to help, you can."

"Are you sure?" he asks even as he steps closer and starts to reach one hand out.

"Here, you take this side – be gentle."

Chris is careful. He stands behind him and does his best to copy Victor's strategy: start at the ends until they comb smoothly and work his way up. He tugs his fingers through slowly so it won't hurt when they inevitably snag on a tangle, and he tries not to pull on Victor's scalp as he works each of them apart. Most slide out easily; some are truly knotted, and with some of those he ends up having to take out the strands one or two at a time until it falls apart. Victor makes a pleased sound at one point but is otherwise silent. Chris is, too.

It's nice. It's more than that – intimate, getting to pet Victor's lovely hair in this silence. He wishes that they weren't in a public bathroom, that they were in a low-lit hotel room or outside under the moonlight in some park instead. Somewhere quiet and dark where they could have all the time they wanted together, rather than having to face interviews in a few minutes.

Eventually they work everything out together, and Victor drops his hands. Chris keeps running his fingers through the silky strands. Victor doesn't tell him to stop. When Chris peeks over his shoulder, the reflections of Victor's eyes are closed. So he continues to move his hands, smoothing it all down from the crown of Victor's head down to the tips.

They're standing very close. He wants to – on an impulse he runs his fingernails closer to the scalp on the next stroke, not quite scratching. Victor gives a little gasp at that, leans back slightly. His eyes open. Chris meets his gaze in the mirror again as he pulls his hand out of Victor's hair, moves it back up, and does the same thing. On the third time, Victor's eyelids lower and he pushes into Chris's hand.

Before he can do it once more, Victor turns. He takes Chris's face in his hands, and for a second they just look at each other. Chris can read something in his expression, something curious and maybe wanting, like he is. That's even more encouraging than his reaction a moment ago.

Victor's palms creep up his jaw; his fingers push into his hairline. He leans down as Chris leans up, and their lips meet. Victor is warm and his lips are soft, coated in a thin layer of chapstick. The kiss is over too soon, so Chris sets his hands on Victor's shoulders and pulls them into a second, then a third and fourth, more and more, he can't get enough. One hand digs further into his hair. The other arm wraps around Chris's upper back and grips hard, drawing them even closer together.

When Victor's mouth opens beneath his, Chris copies him and leans in harder, making an embarrassing kind of strange whine. This feels good, the way their mouths move together, the heat he can feel rising in him, the noise Victor makes when he tangles one hand in his hair. He can't help but shove forward, wanting more.

Victor eventually breaks the kiss and makes a little space between them when Chris tries to follow him. For a split second he thinks – but no, Victor looks like he wants to keep going, too. He hasn't changed his mind.

Chris's face is very hot; he must be all red. At least Victor, too, has gone pink, panting just as hard as him. "Can we...." Victor starts. He pauses and licks his lips. "The, ah, the counter hurts."

It takes him several seconds to understand what Victor is saying, and he glances down at the sharp counter edge he's been shoving Victor into. "Oh! Sure, should we...?"

"Let's try this." Victor stands fully upright and turns them around, then drops his hands to Chris's hips and lifts him up onto the counter on the opposite side of the sink from the forgotten rose crown. Chris contemplates putting it back on Victor's head – it really does look good on him, with his silver hair and bright blue eyes – but it will probably get knocked off again. Instead, he makes a face and shuffles a bit farther from the sink, momentarily grumpy about the stray drops of water now soaking through his leggings.

Only momentarily, because then Victor is right there again. They seem to be closer like this than before, with Victor standing between his knees. Chris lets his arms fall around Victor's shoulders and draws him into another kiss. Victor touches a hand to his chest, the other still wrapped firmly on his hip. The angle is different now – the counter isn't very high, but it's evened out their heights, put Chris a couple of centimeters above Victor. He thinks he likes it better this way. Hopefully he'll get a little taller soon.

He shoves his tongue in Victor's mouth and god, he feels so hot. He can feel Victor's teeth against his tongue, Victor's hand pressing fresh bruises into his hip, the vibration in Victor's throat as he moans and pulls Chris closer to the edge of the counter. Chris wraps one leg around Victor's and tucks his foot in, while he tries to lock the other against the drop-off somehow for balance, but it's difficult when Victor is being so distracting, and he's distracted further a moment later when their teeth click too hard against each other and they both reel back.

Nothing seems chipped, though, so he fulfills the desire he can read in the hand clenched in his jacket and pulls the zipper down, shrugs it off. It gets caught around his elbows and he has to remember that his other arm needs to let go of Victor for a moment to get it off, but it only takes a few seconds to toss it to the side. He can distantly hear it slide off the counter; who cares, when he has Victor's touch to keep him busy. Victor kisses him again, and then breaks it before Chris wants him to in order to press kisses to his cheek, down to his neck, as he pushes his fingers under the collar of Chris's shirt. They're very cold fingers.

"Here," Chris pants against Victor's temple. He grabs the hand and pulls it out, then shoves it under the bottom hem to rest on his stomach. "They'll warm up faster like this."

There's a huff of air against his neck, and Victor kisses it once more. His other hand finally lets go of Chris's hip and creeps upward. Chris clutches at Victor's shoulders again – to have something to do with his hands at first, and then for support, because Victor is starting to lean him back at an awkward angle and his muscles are still sore from skating earlier.

Victor's hands do warm quickly as his fingers run over every ticklish spot on Chris's waist – making him squirm and tell Victor to knock it off, which gets him a real laugh this time – before one moves further up and slowly, almost shyly, rubs over the edges of one nipple. It feels _good_ , enough to make his toes curl a little, enough to force a weird high-pitched noise from his throat. So Victor does it again, with less hesitation, and again, leans them further and further until Chris has to slap one hand down on the counter for balance.

Unfortunately, it's a very smooth counter that's speckled with water drops. His hand slips; his head slams back into the mirror.

" _Fuck_ ," he gasps, then adds a few more curse words for good measure. The warm body over him lifts.

"Are you hurt?" Victor asks, his blue eyes gone wide. Chris winces and (much more carefully, this time) levers himself up to prod at the back of his head.

"No, no. It's already fading." It is; the pain was sharp but seems to be short-lived. He wants to get back to what they were doing before – Victor is now too far away, still peering at him, one hand on the counter and the other fisted in the hem of Chris's shirt. "I'm fine," he says with a smile, dropping his hand from the sore spot. "Hold on, let's—"

They get off the counter. There's a tiled wall separating the sinks from the rest of the bathroom, and that should do. He pushes Victor against it, then himself against Victor, tilting his head up for another kiss as he slides his hands up and under Victor's own top layers. He shivers as Chris brushes his fingers over the defined muscles of his stomach, his bottom ribs, then clutches Chris closer – if there was even room left between them – and deepens their kiss.

Chris lets his hands settle around Victor's narrow waist and tries to keep up with the kiss, the way Victor moves his mouth and presses their tongues together. His lips tingle; so does his back, where Victor keeps pulling at it and moving his hands up, down. He feels so very, very hot. It's difficult not to start rubbing up against Victor. Somewhere he still remembers that they have something to do soon, that they probably should have stopped a while ago, in fact.

But who has time for that? A few days ago, Victor barely remembered him at all; now he's gasping against Chris, strands of his pretty hair sticking to his face around his bright (and not entirely focused) eyes, his heartbeat rapid against his lips when they finally pull their mouths away from each other and Chris pushes his face to Victor's neck. It's so rewarding to have this effect, to make Victor produce those tiny keening sounds, to feel him clutching at his shirt. All of that beautiful strength, the strength that propels Victor through his quads and steps and up to the top of the podium, now being used to keep Chris close.

"Chr – Chris, _Chris_ ," he gasps into his hair, his voice gone low. Chris shivers to hear his name said like that and shifts his hands up, all future plans entirely forgotten.

Loud footsteps suddenly clunk by the bathroom door. The two of them freeze, looking at each other, but thankfully, whoever it is doesn't come inside.

"The press conference," Victor says, his voice a bit faint. He looks entirely unlike how he did on the ice, his hair a mess again and his lips a deep pink. "We need to go."

"Right." It takes them a couple of minutes to actually pull away from each other, though, to disentangle their hands from each other's shirts. Victor's the one to gently push him off; Chris can't help but claim one last kiss, and then one _last_ kiss, before he lets Victor move away, leaving him feeling suddenly chilled.

Victor fusses with his hair in front of the mirror again, while Chris picks up his jacket and splashes cold water on his face. It's gone quite red under his tan. Victor, too, is flushed, but it looks a bit more natural on him. "Do you need help?" he asks again. Victor throws him a look. Chris reaches out anyway and helps smooth his hair down – it doesn't seem to be actually tangled, just ruffled, and it's soon back to looking picture-perfect. "I can put it up for you," he offers.

Victor shakes his head. "I know the right height to tie it at," he says as he slips an elastic from under the wrist of his jacket and begins to pulls his hair up into a ponytail. Chris picks up the rose crown and gives it a little jiggle to fluff it up again. Right at that moment, the door to the bathroom slams open. Both of them whip around with a startled jump.

It's Victor's coach, and he looks furious. Chris makes out a " _Vitya,_ " and then a long string of what must be Russian, and which sounds very angry.

Victor puts a smile on his face, though, doesn't look shaken at all. "Chris was just helping me finish getting ready," he says lightly. "I'm sorry we took so long."

His coach glances at Chris, who hastily plonks the crown on Victor's head, then gives it an adjustment a moment later. "How's that?" he asks.

"Perfect!" Victor checks it briefly in the mirror, then gives their reflections another bright smile. "Okay, let's get going." He grabs Chris's hand and pulls him out of the room, swiftly down the hall.

Chris tightens the grip. Victor's hand in his is warm.


	2. Chapter 2

Chris has been looking forward to the competition for weeks, for more than the usual reasons. He hasn't seen Victor since Worlds, and now they've had the luck to get assigned to one of the same Grand Prix qualifiers. So far they've only chatted briefly in a hallway at the hotel the night before and exchanged greetings before practice today, but Chris is sure that Victor is glad to see him, too. Victor had smiled at him, wound one hand in his hair, lowered his eyelashes; the effect had set Chris's heart beating hard.

And now, after practice, Victor doesn't seem to be anywhere Chris looks.

Chris glances around once more, wondering if he's just missed him somehow, but no – he can see Victor's coach, standing next to one of Victor's rinkmates and scowling more than usual, rubbing his forehead like he's got a headache. Perhaps he stares a moment too long, as Victor's coach mutters something to the boy next to him and starts heading towards Chris, but it's just to ask if he's seen Victor, which of course he hasn't.

He glances around again as Yakov returns to his other skater, wondering where Victor might have gone off to. He wasn't still in the showers when Chris left, and unless he snuck out some other way, that leaves—

Chris heads to the bathroom. He can't help the slight heat that creeps into his cheeks when he sees the sinks and remembers what happened last time the two of them were together in a place like this. It looks empty, though. He turns and walks slowly down the rest of the tiles, past the stalls, feeling like a bit of a creep, but this part looks empty, too – wait.

The stall at the end is closed, though no feet are visible under the door. He swallows, trying not to feel too weird or foolish: "Victor?"

There's a quiet gasp, and scrambling, the sound of a rusty lock being turned, before the door opens and Victor's face appears. "Hi," he says, looking more subdued than earlier, and instead of coming out, he takes a step back. Confused, Chris follows him in and locks the door again as Victor curls up on the toilet, knees pulled up to his chest.

"Your coach is looking for you."

"I know," Victor sighs.

"You're in trouble?"

Victor winces and pushes a stray hair from his face. "I said something very stupid to a reporter earlier, and I know he'll scold me about it, and I don't feel like listening to it right now."

"Shouldn't you get it over with now, instead of waiting until he's even more upset?"

"Chris, you've never been scolded by Yakov." Victor sighs again. "Especially when he just lectured you last night about saying the right things in interviews instead of whatever you please, and you didn't really care in the first place and...."

Could whatever he said really be that bad, that Victor would really rather sit here? Maybe – Chris suspects not, and that Victor knows it and is being dramatic for the sake of it – but now that they are alone and close like this, he isn't exactly eager to drag Victor out again.

He reaches forward and slips his hand over Victor's hair, and because of the way it gets him a tiny sigh, slides out the elastic to free his hair from its ponytail and pulls it over his wrist instead. Victor makes a pleased sound as Chris does so and shakes his head slightly, clearly not protesting, then pushes his face into Chris's stomach as Chris starts to stroke one hand through the fine strands. The other he settles over Victor's shoulder, letting his hand rest against his warm back. 

This is just as pleasant as he remembers – not just because of the texture under his fingers, smooth and soft, but because of the way Victor leans further into him, his shoulders relaxing as he hums slightly. It feels comfortable, like they could sit here all day and do this, even given their surroundings. He wonders if other people get to do this, or if he's special.

He remembers, too, how Victor liked it when he – Chris just scratches his scalp on the next pass and watches Victor shiver and make a different kind of sound. "Do it again," Victor demands, voice muffled against Chris's jacket.

He does, harder. He likes how Victor shudders again and presses harder against him. He wants to see his face, though, wants to kiss him and push their bodies together like at Worlds, except without the time limit of the stupid interviews hanging over them. (Well, Yakov might come looking eventually, but if Victor isn't going to care about that, then Chris sure as hell isn't.)

Chris thinks, as he runs his nails down Victor's scalp again, that it would be nice to twine his fingers in Victor's hair and yank. Not enough to hurt too much, but enough to pull Victor's face away from his front. He pauses his hand on top of his head long enough for Victor to make an impatient nudge, wondering – would Victor be into that? It seems like he would, but what if it just hurt him? Should he ask first? Is this the sort of thing where he should ask first? It would kind of kill the mood.

"Chris," Victor whines, unwrapping one of his arms to firmly push Chris's hand down along his head.

Oh, whatever. Chris moves his hand back up and fists his hand in Victor's hair, jerks him back a little. It's actually hotter than it looked in his head, with the way Victor gasps, how pink his cheeks are already. His eyes are wide for a moment, staring up at him, before they flutter closed. Chris lets go of him and bends over to press their lips together, his other hand scrabbling to find a good support on Victor's shoulder.

It's warm, and soft, and not very long because Chris is trying not to fall over with the awkward angle. As soon as he pulls away, though, Victor's knees fall to one side and he reels Chris back in for another kiss. And another, as soon as Chris finds a good handhold on Victor's calf, and then a deeper one when Victor slips his tongue into his mouth.

He pulls back at some point to get some air, but Victor doesn't let him get far, tugging on his shoulders and pressing a kiss next to his mouth, down to his jaw. Chris leans back in again when Victor throws an arm around his neck. He can't help a whimper when Victor's tongue moves against his, can't help but open his mouth wider as Victor clutches him closer, closer. He keeps forgetting that he can breathe through his nose, though Victor doesn't let him go long enough to catch his breath otherwise, always pulling him in if he tries to lean away.

He doesn't even notice that the position is getting kind of painful until Victor finally lets him go for a few moments. They pant against each other, and then Victor makes a face, and then Chris notices that his arm is starting to protest and a few muscles in his back, which were fine before, are really not used to doing this for minutes on end. He swallows a complaint as he straightens and takes a step back. Victor doesn't bother hiding his wince as he unfolds himself, rubbing his calf for a moment before he stands up.

Chris gets distracted for a second digging his fingers into the sorest of the muscles in his back before arms drape around his waist and Victor nuzzles into his neck. He freezes, all thoughts of the pain gone. It takes him a few moments to realize that maybe he should move and figure out where to put his hands.

Victor chuckles against his skin, quiet and breathy. "You're so cute," he says, drawing back enough to look at him. Chris flushes and settles for grabbing onto the back of Victor's jacket. Is he supposed to say something to that? "Thank you," or, "Well, you're the prettiest person I've ever seen"?

One of Victor's hands comes up to brush against his cheek. The backs of his fingers are so cold – are they always this chilly, or is his face just that hot? Chris clasps it against his skin before he can even think about it, turns his head to press his lips to Victor's knuckles. (He's pretty sure it's at least partially Victor being cold. His hands were so cold last time, weren't they.)

Victor kisses his cheek. "Cute," he repeats. He presses another kiss further up, right on his cheekbone, then stares right into Chris's eyes for a moment that goes from 'kind of endearing' to 'uncomfortably large amount of a time'. "Your eyelashes are so long. Is that natural?"

"Yes," Chris says, though his voice squeaks a little and it comes out more like a question. It's nice to have Victor notice – they're one of his best features. "Yours are, too. It's pretty."

"But yours are so much darker," Victor sighs. The thumb of the hand on his cheek swipes near his eye and catches on the lashes. "Mine are so pale that you can't see them without mascara."

He's wearing some right now, in fact, and it looks entirely natural on him despite the fact that it doesn't match his hair. Now that he's mentioned it, though, Chris wants to see him without it. He's sure that they wouldn't be invisible from this close up; they'd catch the light, even in a dim place like here. It'd be something of Victor that the audience, and the other skaters, wouldn't get to see.

"Maybe you can show me next time." He acts on his instincts (and maybe some buried memories of romance films) and turns Victor's hand around to kiss his palm, then slowly down to his wrist. He tries not to stare too hard at Victor as he looks at him, flutters the eyelashes that he apparently likes so much. It earns him a high-pitched moan and Victor's other hand pressing harder on his waist.

Chris pauses when he gets to – maybe not the pulse point, he can't actually feel a heartbeat through his lips, but about where it should be, and lets Victor's now-warm hand slide along his jaw and tilt his head into another kiss. It's softer, now, not as hurried and forceful as before. It takes Chris a couple of moments to realize that his hand is just hanging in mid-air now that Victor's has moved, and he hastily finds a place for it on Victor's hip.

Victor pushes him into the corner and pushes himself against Chris, a little heavy but pleasantly hot. Chris tries to pull him further in, but when he realizes that there isn't much closer for him to get, he slides his hands up the back of Victor's jacket and shirt instead, enjoying the touch of hot skin under his fingers. Perhaps they can get a bit closer after all, or at least, it sure feels like it as Victor arches into his hands and makes a soft, encouraging sound before moving their lips back together.

It's too hot for his jacket now. He manages to get the zipper down without breaking the kiss, even if it takes a bit of fumbling to find the pull, and Victor helps push it slowly off his shoulders and starts exploring under his shirt before Chris even gets his arms out of the sleeves. Chris _has_ to break their kiss off then, as it tickles too much not to laugh, and anyway, he doesn't want to just drop the jacket to the floor in here.

"That looks cute," Victor says, still moving his hands lightly over Chris's stomach. "Keep it on."

"Like _this_? I can barely move my arms." Chris gives him a look, then shoves it the rest of the way off despite the way Victor sighs, and stows it on the hook that he spots on the wall.

He does Victor's next and can't help but run his hands down Victor's sides after he finishes taking it off and putting it with his own. Victor's shirt fits him very well, and the neckline shows off most of his collarbone. Chris puts his mouth to it, sucks a little. He must be doing it right, since Victor runs one hand up the back of his head, keeping it there, fingers digging into his curls. (Oh, that feels _nice_. No wonder Victor likes having him pet and grab at his hair so much.)

He moves gradually up to the base of Victor's neck, trying to figure out what causes him to make those nice noises, to tilt his head further and clutch harder at his hair. "Chris," Victor breathes, tugging at his shoulder until Chris backs away.

Victor's hands slip down to the hem of his shirt, then start to pull it off. He does it so quickly that the shirt gets caught on Chris's arms before he can put them all the way up, and it takes the both of them a minute to get it untangled. Chris is pretty sure that the shirt is inside-out by the time they do. Victor flings it away somewhere and runs his fingers, and his eyes, down Chris's chest.

The metal he's being pushed into is cold. Despite how heated he feels, he has to resist the urge to cross his arms over his chest, though he isn't sure where else to put them. Back on Victor's waist? It seems as good of a place as any. Victor keeps looking, and looking, and Chris can't quite read the expression on his face, but while the attention is flattering, eventually he gets bored of the staring and kisses him.

Victor returns it with vigor and manages to lean him even further into the corner – ow. It's getting a little painful to be squished in there, so he adjusts them a few centimeters to the left so he's only being shoved into the stall's door, although it's colder. It won't be for long, not with Victor pressed so close against him.

When Victor breaks off again, he stares some more. "Do you like what you see?" Chris asks, feeling his cheeks go aflame as he says it. It's probably a huge cliché, but Victor smiles at it anyway.

"I thought you'd be softer," Victor says, spreading his fingers across Chris's stomach and smiling even more as his muscles jump at the ticklish touch.

"Softer?"

"Your cheeks are so round! I thought – it would have been cute."

Chris raises an eyebrow at that. He isn't sure what to say, so he doesn't say anything: he grabs Victor's hair and pulls him back in. Despite his words, Victor doesn't seem that disappointed. He kind of paws at Chris's chest until he finds one nipple and digs his thumb in. It makes him cry out and dig his fingers into Victor's shirt, wanting more. Victor obliges, rubbing at it – the other one, too – and chasing his mouth every time Chris breaks away to gasp and moan. Was there always a leg between his? It's pressed close against him, too, and he thinks his toes curl further each time he rocks against it.

It all feels so _good_ , god, he could do this forever. "Victor," he whines when the hands on his chest move up to his shoulders. "Victor, please." He wants this, too – he can feel how hard Victor is, the way he pants warmly into his neck. Why did he stop?

"Ah – just, a moment."

It's hard to be patient when he's _right there_ , though, when Chris is so hard, when he can't seem to catch his breath no matter how much his lungs work at it. He makes his fingers let go just enough to grab Victor's ass and tug so he can grind forcefully against him. Victor whimpers into his ear, but it almost gets lost under the groan that escapes Chris. He moves again, moan swallowed by Victor's mouth, thoughts gone to mush with how amazing this is—

The bathroom door creaks badly as it opens. Both of them freeze in place. Chris opens his eyes – when had he closed them, he can't remember – and sees how wide Victor's have gotten. Oh, right, his coach was looking for him, Chris thinks distantly. Not _again_. 

But it's not Yakov. Whoever it is enters a different stall to take care of their own business. Suddenly, the whole situation seems ridiculous, or maybe it's just that it's so awkward he can't help but burst into giggles, and he bites Victor's t-shirt to smother the laughter before it gives them away. Victor just drops his head to Chris's shoulder and breathes out, slow. He can feel a smile against his skin.

The urge to laugh finally fades as the stranger takes their time washing their hands very, very, _very_ thoroughly – _are you doing surgery, who needs to wash their hands for so long_ Chris thinks at him, trembling a little. Finally, the man leaves, and Chris doesn't even hear the door shut before he's rolling his hips and opening his mouth up to Victor's for a deep, messy kiss.

Victor touches his chest again, light at first and then more firmly, pushes them closer together. Chris can't keep his eyes open, shuts them and shudders as he pushes back. Teeth catch on his lip for a moment – his or Victor's, he can't quite tell – but he doesn't care, distracted with the wonderful pressure on his dick, with the movement of Victor's warm fingers down his front.

It's too much, all of a sudden. Chris can't get enough air. He turns his head to the side, grasps Victor's shirt as hard as he can as he ruts harder against him. Fingers brush against his stomach, further down. Victor murmurs his name. It's too much, or just enough, and Chris shudders as he comes, everything going blank with pleasure.

He can feel himself slumping against the door as it starts to fade, all of the tension he hadn't noticed suddenly gone from his muscles. When he finally opens his eyes, Victor is studying him from so close that Chris can't actually bring him all the way into focus. "Victor," he pants, wanting to reach for him, but oh, he's still holding on to him, isn't he. In fact, his fingers are screaming with pain from being curled so hard into his shirt. He forces them straight again and brings them up to fan across Victor's jaw.

"So that's what it looks like," Victor mutters. "Did it feel good?"

Chris doesn't know if English even has a word to express how good it felt. He nods, instead, touches their lips together for a moment. He isn't sure he can say anything quite yet.

Victor follows him when he tries to pull away, though, presses kisses to his mouth, his cheeks. He's flushed so hard his entire face is pink, hot under Chris's hands. "Touch me," he demands, a bit too harshly, but Chris can still feel him against his hip, and, well, fair enough. He digs his fingers into Victor's hair and drags him off, takes a moment to breathe some more.

Then he turns them around, shoves Victor into the door. Victor gives him a pleading look through the strands that have fallen over his face, so Chris doesn't waste much time in kissing him, one hand still tangled in his hair as the other slides down his chest, down his stomach, down into the waistband of Victor's pants.

It can't be that different from doing this to himself, he thinks, as his fingertips first brush against Victor's dick. Victor jumps a little at that, then digs his fingernails into his back as Chris pulls him out. (His own pants are getting kind of uncomfortable, now, but he can deal with that later.)

He's curious what he looks like, but he doesn't get more than a glance before Victor's pulled them so closely together he really can't see. "Chris," he moans, his voice gone high, and it goes even higher when Chris tries stroking him. The look on his face – the way his eyelids flutter and mouth shifts – is fascinating to watch as Chris moves his hand once more.

Victor tilts his head back into the door, then leans forward again, probably going for another kiss – then makes a whine that is decidedly _not_ happy and spits out a few vile words, half French and half Russian, as he jerks back. "What?" Chris drops his hand immediately, afraid for a moment he's hurt him.

"No, not you, it's –" Victor doesn't say what, just turns his head slowly and slides his fingers along one lock of hair, wincing as he does so. Chris squints and spots what he thinks is the problem before Victor does: a strand or two is caught in the hinges of the door. He carefully separates them out, making sure not to pull on them even more.

"Better?"

Victor nods. "Strange," he says, rubbing at his scalp and laughing. "It feels good when you pull on all of it, but if it's just one or two it hurts like hell."

Leaning up on tip-toe, Chris can just barely reach his lips to the area Victor is rubbing at. "There," he says. Victor smiles at him, then kisses him, then closes his eyes and gasps his name for him when Chris leans them back together and touches his cock.

He strokes a few times, tries to gauge Victor's reactions, but it's all pushing into his hand and grabbing ever harder at his back, so he has to give up on that. And anyway, it's really not that long before Victor whines his name one last time and pushes his head into Chris's shoulder and comes over his hand.

Chris runs his free hand over Victor's hair until he straightens up and smiles at him. He smiles back, though the lines Victor dug into his back kind of hurt, and his lips are definitely a bit tender from all of the kissing, and he has no idea what he should do with his hand. Victor helps with the last one – he lifts Chris's hand and dips his head and begins to licks everything off, looking up at him all the while. Chris can feel himself blush at the sight, at the feeling of Victor's tongue running along every finger. This feels like a scene straight out of porn, only it's Victor doing it, Victor sucking at his knuckles and watching him, so it's like a hundred times hotter. He's starting to get hard again. If only they had more time.

When he's done, Victor drapes his arms around his neck and they simply lean into each other for a bit. It's not exactly great as far as cuddling goes, but it's okay considering where they are. "That was really good," he hears himself say.

Victor hums in agreement, then says, "You're really warm."

He's starting to feel cold, actually, now that they're just standing here. He tries to pull away and gives up the first time when Victor refuses to let him go. He rests his head against Victor's neck and enjoys that for a few more minutes, until the goosebumps along his arms get to be too much. "It's cold in here," he whines when Victor's grip tightens further. "Let me get my shirt on, at least."

"Fine, fine," Victor grumbles. He still lets go slowly, reluctantly, presses another kiss to Chris's sore lips before releasing him.

Chris finds his shirt and pulls it on, turns to see Victor watching him. "Here," he says, pulling Victor's jacket down. He helps him into it, smooths it down his waist as Victor zips it up, before he gets his own.

They spend a couple of more minutes cleaning up and making themselves presentable. Victor still seems hesitant to leave; Chris practically has to drag him out of the stall by the hand. They pause in front of the sinks to check their reflections in the mirror. They look... probably a lot like they've been making out for the last however-long-it's-been, Chris thinks, but that could just be his imagination, and there isn't much to do for it besides.

Victor sighs. "Time to face Yakov," he says. He puts on a smile, saying in a lighter voice, "Well, maybe he won't be too mad. Sometimes I think he likes some of the stuff I say even when he yells at me for it." At this point, Chris imagines his coach is probably more worried than angry about whatever it is that Victor says he did.

"Hey." When Victor looks at him, Chris gives him a final, quick kiss, which seems to cheer him up, as he more willingly comes with him out of the bathroom.

"I'll see you on the ice," Victor says, before he leaves with a wave.

On the ice. Yes. And hopefully after. Chris touches his lips absently as Victor disappears, and only then does he remember the faint pressure on his wrist. He slides the hem of his jacket and shirt up to check and, ah, yes, he's accidentally stolen Victor's hair tie.


	3. Chapter 3

While he hasn't exactly had much time for sightseeing, so far Chris likes Japan. Except for one thing. The afterparty for the competition has been dull tonight, which isn't Japan's fault, but the fact that he can't even get a decent glass of champagne _is._ What kind of country sets the drinking age at twenty? There must be someone willing to hand him a glass anyway; he just hasn't found them yet.

At the moment, though, he isn't looking; he's standing in front of a very clean mirror in a very nice bathroom and rubbing at his eyes. After most of a day's worth of dry winter air, his contacts are starting to get irritating. His eyes don't look red, yet, but maybe he should run to his room and switch them out for his glasses.

He gives his eyes another rub – it doesn't actually help, but it feels good – and leaves his hands there for a moment, pressing just enough to see swirls of color against his closed eyelids. He hears someone come in as he does so, with soft, light footsteps. A moment later, he squeaks on reflex as arms wrap around his waist.

"Chris," Victor says in his ear. "There you are!"

Chris drops his hands. "Were you looking for me?"

"Mm." Victor drops his forehead to Chris's shoulder and clutches at him more tightly. It's a good amount of pressure, kind of comforting, until he squeezes and it becomes borderline painful. "I thought you'd gotten bored and gone back."

"I was thinking about it." Chris finds Victor's hands and tugs at them, but Victor doesn't let go. He loosens his grip, at least, so Chris twists to get a better look at him. "Did you want to come with me?"

"Mm," Victor says again, and he leans his head up to kiss Chris's cheek. Chris only has to turn his head further to make it into a proper kiss, soft and slow. Victor smells like alcohol. Good for him, considering he's also still underage here. Chris kisses him again, a little harder, and Victor's mouth opens beneath his – he tastes of champagne, when Chris presses his tongue in, and Victor shudders and curls his fingers into his shirt.

The angle is getting painful. "My neck hurts," he says, going after Victor's hands, but he lets go first, only to tug Chris around before he has the chance to turn himself. One arm presses firmly into the small of his back, while the other hand slides up his spine, his neck, into his hair as Victor leans in. Chris settles his hands on Victor's waist and enjoys the quiet noises he makes when their lips move together.

Victor opens his mouth again, whimpers lowly and pulls at his hair until Chris acquiesces to his wordless demand. He slides his tongue between Victor's lips and kisses him as deeply as he can, until breathing through his nose isn't enough. He finally gets a good look at Victor as they part, his pretty eyes wide and cheeks flushed and mouth still parted as he takes fast, hard breaths. Chris puts one hand to his cheek – it's hot, and Victor nuzzles into it, eyes closing and opening halfway, slow, like a cat's, looking at him. _Oh_ , some part of him goes, and there's heat in his chest to see Victor like this, giving him that expression. _Oh_ , and he did this to him, and he wants more.

But maybe not right here. Somewhere more comfortable (even if this a nice bathroom, pristine, with warm light instead of cold). He asks, "My room or yours?"

"We're already here," Victor whines. He tries to tug them closer, though there really isn't any room left to close.

" _Victor._ Wouldn't you rather—" He's interrupted by Victor shoving their mouths together. It's a very good distraction, especially with the way he runs his fingertips down Chris's scalp and tries to twine them into the short curls. Several minutes later, when Victor drops his hand down his neck and pulls away, he's half forgotten his objection. "Okay," he says, feeling a little dazed, like he's had some of the champagne he can still taste. Whatever, at worst they'll scare someone off if they hear. If Victor doesn't care, Chris doesn't have to, either. He swipes his thumb along Victor's cheekbone and watches him smile.

He has lovely cheekbones. Chris tells him this and he smiles even more, shows a hint of teeth for a second.

Still, they shouldn't just stand here. Someone else is going to come in eventually, and while he doesn't mind the thought of them seeing, he doesn't want to get interrupted. So he pulls at the arm around his waist until Victor lets him take it, and leads him down the row of stalls to the handicapped one at the end.

One good thing about Japanese bathrooms – the walls go all the way to the floor, and the door just clears it. No worrying about interruptions this time if they can keep quiet.

Victor barely waits for him to lock the door before pressing him against the wall. He doesn't kiss him, at first, but cups his cheeks and leans in so far that Chris blinks as Victor's face goes blurry from the close distance. Chris wraps his arms loosely around his waist and tries to lean back on instinct, though of course it doesn't work and he can feel his eyes crossing. 

Victor darts in just long enough to press a kiss to the tip of his nose, then smothers a burst of giggles against his shoulder while Chris is still processing it. The sound of his laughter makes Chris smile, too, and he rubs his cheek against Victor's hair until his head lifts again.

"You're so cute," he croons, and like last time, Chris doesn't know what to say to it. He doesn't have to say anything, though, as Victor presses their mouths together. Chris hums and tilts his head so their noses aren't bumping, lets his hands slide down the back of Victor's suit jacket until he can get a good grope of his ass.

Victor laughs into his mouth this time – kind of a strange sensation, but he likes it, and he likes what he feels, so he keeps his hands right where they are. (He thinks, for a moment, of the sleek costume Victor wore for his short program a few days ago, the one that had clung to every line of his body, from his wrists to his waist to his legs. He hadn't been able to pay attention to most of the program itself, too distracted by the way Victor's muscles moved when he was about to jump, the curve of his back and waist during his step sequence.) They stay like that for what has to be at least several minutes, Victor's thumbs brushing his cheeks at irregular intervals, their mouths sliding slowly against each other, both of them making soft murmuring sounds. Then Victor arches into his grip for a moment before he pulls away from the kiss.

Chris tries to start it again – he was enjoying that, dammit – but the hands still on his face press him back, gentle. They drop down as he presses quick kisses down Chris's cheek, his jaw, the top of his neck, and then he draws back and starts undoing Chris's tie.

When he's still having trouble with it a minute later, Chris reluctantly brings his hands up, bats Victor's away, and has it untied in three seconds. He lets Victor finish taking it off, but when he stares at the silk in his hand like he has no idea where to put it, takes it from him and loops it around the bag hook.

"Ah," says Victor. He kisses his cheek again and starts on the buttons of Chris's jacket. His fingers fumble a bit, but he manages. "It's different when it's on somebody else," he says, absently, and then he gets the last button undone and moves his hands up Chris's chest to slide it off his shoulders from underneath. Chris shivers at the sensation and lets Victor do all the work of getting it off.

Victor gets the first two buttons on his shirt undone quickly, and puts his mouth back on Chris's neck while he works on the third. Chris turns his head to nuzzle on the top of his head – his hair is so _soft_ – only after a few moments of that, he pulls his head back and lets go of Victor to put a hand to his own mouth. There's something— 

"Chris," Victor says, looking up, only to get a strange look on his face. "What?"

Ah, there, he's got it. He pulls a long hair away from his mouth, though he can't help but rub his tongue against the roof of his mouth a couple more times to make sure it's all out. Victor laughs as he shakes the hair off his hand to fall unseen to the ground. Chris makes an exaggerated expression of disgust and Victor laughs harder, leaning into him.

"Sorry," he says. "They get everywhere. You might find some on your clothes later. ...if I don't take them off first."

"Get back to it, then," says Chris, looping his arms back around Victor.

Victor pecks him on the cheek and does so. After the next button, he starts on the rest with one hand, using the other to push open Chris's shirt. He traces Chris's collarbone with a finger, one end to the other as far as he can reach under the shirt, and back again. He does it again with his tongue, kisses the hollow of his throat, and he finally makes progress on the buttons as he moves his mouth up and sucks on the juncture of his shoulder and neck.

Chris prods him after it's been a minute. "If you keep sucking like that, you're going to leave a mark."

Victor pulls away, goes, "Oh," quiet, and then his eyes light up. "Can I?"

He looks so eager about it, and it's not like they're going to see each other again soon after this, and – what the heck. "Okay," he says, and tilts his head to give Victor better access.

He doesn't waste any time, either, leaning down and putting his mouth to Chris's skin. He sucks hard – really hard, it doesn't actually feel that good. But it's okay, Chris can stand it, lets Victor enjoy it, up until the point he bites.

" _Ow_!" He shoves Victor away and slaps a hand to the bite. " _Victor_!"

"You said I could."

"You're not supposed to bite that hard."

"It wasn't that hard!"

"It _was_ ," and he should be the one to know, shouldn't he? He rubs at the bite, which really does hurt, and tries not to scowl; the atmosphere has been ruined enough.

Victor pouts and wraps his arms around himself, and Chris wonders if they shouldn't just go back to a hotel room and try again, with less teeth involved. But then Victor loosens his arms, tilts his head a fraction, looks at him through his darkened eyelashes. (He has to duck his head a little to do this, though not that much; they're almost the same height now.) "Let me make it up to you?"

It's hard to stay mad at a sight, a tone of voice like that, and anyway, his neck doesn't hurt that much anymore. "Okay," he says, and first he finishes undoing his shirt, though he doesn't bother taking it off, then steps forward to remove Victor's tie. Victor gives a pleased hum and reaches for him again, closes the space between them until Chris barely has room to work.

Chris pauses after the tie is off and the first button undone. The truth is, Victor looks very good in this suit, even if it's not one he would have put him in – the black should be too stark on him, but somehow it just seems to bring out his eyes instead, highlighting the strands of hair falling across the dark fabric. He'd love to see Victor out of it, but there's also appeal in the idea of Victor still in it, mussed. Decisions, decisions.

Well, it's faster to simply untuck his shirt and slide his hands beneath it. Victor gasps and leans even further into him. Then there are hands moving up Chris's back, under his own shirt, and for once, Victor's hands are mostly warm already.

Victor's muscles jump as he touches them, fingers creeping up his waist, fanning across his ribs. "Chris," Victor whines, breathy, pushing into his hands.

"Hush. I thought you were making up to me?"

Victor moans and shoves his face into Chris's neck, breathes against it as Chris takes his time touching. He can feel Victor's ribs expanding and contracting; he can feel the slight dip of his waist, the solid muscle underneath, the bones of his spine. He's so very warm, and Chris thinks of his skating, again. Victor leaning until his back is a gorgeous arc. Victor propelling himself up into difficult jumps. Every good skater looks lovely on the ice, but something about the way Victor moves out there is plain beautiful. He skates like it makes him feel almost the way it makes Chris feel.

It makes Chris want to touch him, to have that under his hands, and now he does, now Victor is whimpering against his neck and working a leg between his.

Victor arches when Chris traces a thumb across one nipple. Chris takes one look at his face – flushed, hair falling everywhere, eyes not quite focused – and leans in to kiss him. Victor smashes their mouths together before he gets there, and Chris feels his teeth catch on a lip.

"Ow."

"Sorry. Does it hurt?"

"No. Come here," Victor says, voice shaking a little when Chris digs his thumb in harder. Their second attempt is more successful. Chris rolls their hips together; Victor clutches at his back, though at least there aren't nails digging in this time; and at some point, someone's knees fail and they hit the floor.

Both of them make pained noises; Victor draws away to rub at his knees and mutters a curse. "Okay?" Chris asks, rubbing circles on his own. Victor replies with a sound he can't quite interpret.

They readjust themselves, and while they're at it, Chris takes off his shoes, because they are too awkward to kneel on the floor in. Then he climbs into Victor's lap, runs his hands down his hair, and kisses him again. Victor tilts his head back, opens his mouth, pulls Chris harder against him – oh, yes, this is a very nice angle.

Victor moans as Chris tugs on his hair to tilt his head even farther back, though it ends up being more uncomfortable than it's worth. Chris is getting impatient; he wants more. He leans into the touch of a hand on his waist and tries to grind against Victor again.

Victor ends up almost overbalancing, leaning back so far he has to put a hand down with a little gasp. So Chris pushes him further, down until he's laying on the floor. He's such a sight to see: hair flying everywhere, suit in place but half open and wrinkled, begging Chris with his eyes.

"You're so pretty," Chris says, reaching up to trace his cheek. Victor shivers and digs his hands beneath Chris's shirt, pulls at his shoulders until he is laying on him. This is even better; they can grind against each other. Victor lets out a moan, and his legs part beneath Chris, and his fingernails bite into Chris's back until it hurts. Chris presses his face to Victor's skin and rocks harder – he doesn't even know what sounds he's making now, it's so good to be like this, finally, Victor can scratch his back up for all he cares as long as he keeps pushing them together, making those breathy little groans.

" _Get a room, you two_!" someone calls from the front of the bathroom. Both of them freeze. Chris hadn't heard anyone come in at all.

Maybe they should have been quieter. (They definitely should have gone to someone's room.) Oh, well. Chris doesn't want quiet; he wants every noise that comes out of Victor's throat.

He props himself up on one hand to look at Victor while waiting for whoever shouted at them to leave and feels his racing heart start to slow a bit. Victor's face is entirely red, and he's smiling – not the bright winsome smile of magazine covers, but one that's smaller and tilted and looks very pleased. _Chris_ , he mouths, and tugs him down again as the stranger's footsteps make their way out the door.

Chris lets him, a little, but he's also thinking that he'd like to see Victor's expression when he touches him, when he comes, so he shifts himself and brings his other hand down Victor's body. The soft skin of his neck where the buttons are undone, the nice fabric of his suit, his belt, and then Chris grabs him through the trousers.

Victor half shudders at that, half arches, his head thumping back against the floor. He lets go of Chris with one hand to kind of claw at the floor, then winds it into his own hair when Chris strokes him. "Please," he moans, thrusting against his hand. "Please, please, _please_ ," those bright blue eyes gone desperate, pinned on him.

"Okay," he says, fascinated, unable to look away. He moves his hand faster, trying to think of how to get Victor's pants open, though at this point he has little brain power left to spare for problem-solving. It'd be too awkward to move so he can use both hands without falling over, wouldn't it? Maybe he can undo them with one hand? He'd have to stop touching him, though, and Victor might not let him. He's almost writhing like this, tossing his head from side to side, hand hopelessly tangled in his hair, the other pulling hard on Chris's waist.

"Harder," and Chris complies. He feels like he's close to the edge himself, from the way Victor's saying his name in-between open-mouthed panting for air, the way he keeps pushing up into his hand. And while he's trying to get Victor's trousers open, he'd like to get his own off, and he _definitely_ doesn't have enough space to figure that one out, too.

He does try to go for Victor's zipper, but Victor makes the world's most pathetic noise and his nails dig deeper into his back, so he gives up and keeps stroking him. Next time – next time, when Victor's not in a handsome suit, or, hell, even if he is, next time, Chris will strip him down and get a good look, touch him all over skin-to-skin. This time, though, he gets as firm a grip he can on Victor's dick through the trousers and watches his eyes close.

Victor trembles underneath him when he comes, gasps and pulls at Chris's waist. It's a very attractive sight; Chris bites his lip on a whimper, then lets go and collapses onto him.

He gives Victor about ten seconds to enjoy it before he starts rubbing against him. He's so hard, and he wants to come already, and he wants Victor to touch him. "Victor," he mumbles, stretching out the vowels, when that last part doesn't come true.

"Yes," Victor says, breathless, and kisses him again. When Chris breaks it off a few moments later – Victor's mouth is hot and it feels good but he needs to breathe right now – Victor is still trying to pull his hand from his hair. Chris reaches up a shaking hand to help, and when it's free, he gets a good grip and tugs on it. "Yes," Victor says, still out of breath, laughing a little. "I'll – oh, can I hold you when I – I want to hold you."

"Okay," says Chris, not really getting what he's saying. Anything is good, as long as Victor keeps moving that hand down his chest. He grinds into Victor's hip again, and this time the whimper escapes.

"Here," says Victor, and he flips them over halfway, then turns Chris over before he can finish processing how he's moved. It puts Victor at his back, which seems like a shame, until Victor plasters himself up against every part of it and tangles their legs together, slides an arm around his waist, sighs into his neck. Oh. That's what he meant.

Victor kisses his neck, gentle, and his other hand moves down and starts undoing his pants. _Finally_. Chris bites the cuff of his shirt just as Victor pulls him out, and it's so good, though it could be harder, not this light, teasing touch, and then it _is_ and the last part of Chris's brain shuts off.

Victor has barely touched him and he's about to come, he can _feel_ it building in his stomach – he thrusts his hips up and he can hear Victor murmuring to him but he can't tell what the words are, if they're English or Russian or if he's learned to say dirty things in French, he better not be expecting a response.

And then Victor _stops_. Stops the murmurs, stops the movement of his hand. Chris wants to scream.

He pulls his teeth from his soaked sleeve to demand _why –_ was he actually saying anything important? – when he hears the sound of a door swinging closed and more footsteps on the tile.

Goddamn it. _Goddamn it_. Shaking, so close to the edge he can barely think, Chris tells himself that next time he'll insist on one of their rooms, where they can make all the noise they want without anyone interrupting them or suddenly bursting in.

"Sorry, sorry," Victor is whispering right into his ear, as the stranger clomps his way into a stall. "I – if you – do you think you could be quiet? I'll—" and Chris is nodding his head frantically. He clamps his teeth on his shirt again, covers his mouth for good measure, manages not to make a sound when Victor strokes him again.

It only takes a few more seconds for the wave of pleasure to hit him. It feels so very good, flooding his brain, so much better than usual, and it seems to last forever until he comes back to his senses.

He lets his shirt go and lets his arm flop against the floor like the rest of his limbs. Victor kisses the back of his neck again and then relaxes further against him. There are two arms around his waist, now, a little tight but not so much that Chris is going to fuss. There isn't a real thought in his head, and he would be happy to lay here forever.

In the background, there's running water, the sound of hands being dried, the creak of door hinges, before they're left alone.

Chris doesn't really want to move, still, but after a few minutes, the floor is not really that comfortable any more, even with Victor cuddled up against him.

"Go back?" he suggests, still struggling to remember what the rest of the words in the sentence should be.

"Mm," Victor says, and hugs him tighter.

"We're not cuddling on the floor," Chris tells him.

"But Chris," Victor grumbles as he tries to pry him off. He doesn't finish the protest.

"Let's sit up," he says, since at least then his hipbone won't be holding any of his weight, and Victor gives in to that much. Chris takes a moment to try and clean up the come spilled across the floor, puts his clothes back together a little bit, and then lets Victor pull him against the wall.

Victor tucks his head on his shoulder and squeezes him again. Chris puts an arm around his shoulders and his head on Victor's, strokes idle patterns on Victor's thigh with his free hand. For what it is, it's surprisingly comfortable. His eyes still itch from the contacts, and his back hurts from Victor's scratching, and his knees ache, and he can feel a couple of other sore spots, but he starts to fall asleep regardless. Victor's just so warm, and his hair is soft, and it feels nice to hold someone, to be held, even like this.

"Chris," Victor murmurs at some point.

He doesn't think he could force his eyes open if he wanted to. "What."

But Victor doesn't say anything else, just tightens his arms and moves his head. Okay, then. Chris adjusts one hip and goes back to falling asleep.

He really is dozing by the time he's jerked awake by a burst of shrill music. Victor jumps and scrambles to sit up, one hand pulling away to dig in his pocket. Oh, it's his phone. Chris slumps against him as he answers. The conversation is short and in Russian. "Yakov wanted to know where I was, since he didn't see me leave. He worries so much about us!"

"Of course he does." Chris reaches up and half-heartedly strokes Victor's hair, though his fingers don't make it all the way down the length of the strands. "A pretty thing like you, who knows what could happen."

"We're in _Japan_ ," Victor huffs. "I could hardly get in trouble here. Anyway, I said I'd gone back to my hotel room."

"You shouldn't lie to your coach." Chris pecks Victor on the cheek, then dodges his attempt to resume cuddling by standing up. "Let's go sleep in a real bed."

"Okay," Victor says, in a tone that suggests Chris is being unreasonable. Chris sure is feeling unreasonable – he still doesn't want to walk anywhere, but of course they can't stay here all night. "Whose room is closer to the elevator?"

"Mine's the first one in the hall."

"Yours, then." He helps Victor up and watches him stretch, then grimace as he drops his arms. Maybe he's sore, too, or maybe he's just regretting that he didn't let Chris at least get his pants open.

They get themselves looking – well, not presentable. But at least they slide all of Chris's buttons into the right holes, and he wakes up enough to remember how to tie his tie, and he helps Victor tuck his shirt back in, though he takes off his jacket while complaining about it being too hot. They give each other a final look-over – shoes on, clothes in approximately the right position – and Chris unlocks the door.

In the elevator, Victor yawns and leans into him. His flush has gone down by now; he looks tired more than anything. "When's your flight? If it's not too early, we should go sightseeing tomorrow."

"Yeah?" Chris can't remember. He's falling asleep again. 

"We could get real sushi!" Chris nods and doesn't really listen as Victor throws out more suggestions, willing the numbers in the display to go up faster. He's so focused on it, and so sleepy, that he doesn't actually notice the doors open for a long moment, not until Victor takes his hand and drags him out. "Let me," he says when Chris can't seem to locate his keycard, roots around in his pockets for him until he finds it.

 _Whirr_ goes the lock. Victor hooks a hand around his elbow and pulls him into the dark, silent room.


End file.
